


Once Upon a Darkmoon Blade: Str vs. Dex

by OctoSlender



Series: Once Upon a Darkmoon Blade [2]
Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Comedy, Diary/Journal, Parody, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 12:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoSlender/pseuds/OctoSlender
Summary: The Ashen One faces a crisis when a wave of Dexterity mains grow rampant through Lothric and Anor Londo.





	Once Upon a Darkmoon Blade: Str vs. Dex

_Day 663_

There has to be a way, I must find it. I am the only knight in her company and so my captain depends on me.

Kneeling on the floorboards beside her throne, her gaze pierced through me. She needn’t speak, the cold eyes beneath her narrow brows judged failure after failure.

“Knight, art thou sure the problem lies within thy failure to learn their ways?” Yorsha asked me. ‘Knight,’ is the name she now calls me. When I first began under her company, she would refer to me in full: ‘Knight of the Darkmoon.’ Not too long after, when the count of failures began rising, she referred to me as ‘Darkmoon Knight.’

Now, it was just ‘Knight.’

How the mighty have fallen.

“What do you mean?” I remember asking her.

A sigh and the shake of her head were her only responses.

The plight I faced before me were that my opponents were too dextrous for me, too agile for my blade and in turn, their slashes too swift. Even the heaviest armour cannot withstand a thousand cuts. On my journey to aid other Unkindled on their path, these foes have grown in numbers. With their curved swords and their swords from the East, it makes me question the Gods when I rest by a bonfire.

Does the answer truly lie in my mighty hammer?

“Do as thy wish. One knight, no matter how able, is better than no knights at all.” Still on her chair, she shifted her body over, facing away from me. Extending a lazy hand, she waved me to continue pursuing my duties.

It hurts, yet I must endure. I must persevere. I will learn my opponents and when I do, I will crush them.

 

 

_Day 666_

I cannot do it.

The act of aiding others has fallen to nothing more than a cruel jest. These battles cannot be won. Twice, I was summoned to the same battle, against the same foe. On the second time, I resolved to die. I laid down on the fields past the cathedral where the Pontiff once waited, awaiting my fate at behest of the man with the Eastern sword.

How could I win against him?

In our first battle, there was silence between us as a soft breeze shook the grass. Us two on the Pontiff’s balcony. There I was, clad in the heaviest armour meant to slay dragons. He, on the other hand, wore nothing but tattered rags. The distance between us were a dozen men. Nevertheless, he swung at the air in slashes at a speed my eyes could only hope to match.

There was nothing at first.

I stood there confused, but impressed at the display. Surely, he was a Blade Master.

It was only when he sheathed his blade that it struck me. Piercing through my armour, a thousand slashes from where he stood. Never have I seen such a technique. I had no chance. I was not even near him.

As I fell, I heard him utter something through a snide chuckle. Though I could not make out exactly what was said, I was sure it was close to what I’m about to write down.

“Nothing personal, kid.”

There was no hope. Only despair.

If I were to escape out of this abyss I have been tossed into, there was only one path I could take.

 

…

 

**THE FIRELINK SHRINE**

I cannot stop feeling I have failed the Gods.

As a Fire Keeper, my purpose of existing is to guide the Ashen One to link the flame. I know not of the events that transpired along the path of his journey. However, it appears he has abandoned his duty.

The Shrine Handmaid assures me that it is not my own doing; that some already have their path set before them, regardless of whether it is by the hands of the Gods or by our very own.

Her words are sound, yet I cannot help but feel I could have done more.

The Ashen One still comes around.

He makes his presence clear as his visitation is accompanied by his own voice, bellowing throughout this decaying shrine. This began the first time I traded his souls for strength. Hitherto, that is his only wish. He does not wish for vitality nor endurance. Only strength mattered to him. I fear what he might say if I suggested dexterity or a measure of intelligence.

He seems to look up to Andre, the Blacksmith.

The Ashen One would cite him as the only person who appreciates the true value of gains. Andre later told me that ‘gains’ to the Ashen One is tantamount to strength. The conversation they shared often revolved around Andre’s ‘workouts.’ More often than not, Andre would be made weary by compliments of how ‘ripped’ or how ‘shredded’ he was.

It is clear the both of us seem to speak a different language than the Ashen One.

“I HAVE ARRIVED AT THE GLORIOUS SHRINE OF GAINS.” A voice booms, announcing the Ashen One’s arrival. Dawning the heaviest armour, he wielded a giant hammer in his hands. The kind that made worlds quake.

The Shrine Handmaid once noted, with a chuckle, that it was a symbol for something he had… or to make up for something he lacked.

I did not understand what she meant by that.

There is so much I do not know. One such unknown is now about take place as the Ashen One lugs himself over to me.

“GLORIOUS MAIDEN OF GAINS,” he says, kneeling before me to hand over a hard journey’s worth of souls.

“Very well, then touch the darkness within me. Take nourishment from these sovereign-less souls.” I say as I always do. “Let these souls, withdrawn from their ves—”

“MAIDEN OF GAINS,” he interjected. “PLEASE RECITE THE PRAYER I HAVE TAUGHT YOU. FOR THIS PRAYER IS JUST AND TRUE. IT IS NOTHING SHORT OF THE HOLIEST RECITAL FOR AN UNKINDLED SUCH AS ME.”

“But Ashen One… I must recite the prayer for these souls. They must be guided to you to take upon a new form, to inhabit the ash. To rest and grow within you.” I tried to reason.

“PLEASE,” the Ashen One entreated.

Flustered, I had no choice to comply. Clearing my throat, I assumed a new recital as requested by the Ashen One.

_“Swole is the goal,_

_Size is the prize._

_It’s ‘gains’ o’ clock,_

_Motherfucker._

_Let’s go….”_

I cannot stop feeling like I have failed myself...


End file.
